Black Girl Magic
by StainedGlassSkyscrapers
Summary: "Our backs tell stories no books have the spine to carry." Hermione's story as a woman of color.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer for entire story: What is mine is mine, what is not is not. I'm sure we're all smart enough to know what's what. I will never pretend what's not mine is, and vice versa. Get it? Got it? Good.**

 **Warning: Trigger warning for inflammatory language and racial slurs.**

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" _Our backs tell stories no books have the spine to carry." -Rupi Kaur, Women of Color_

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Ever since she was a baby, Hermione Granger was very smart. She was speaking in sentences months before she took her first steps. Very basic sentences, mind you, mostly things like "I want that", but sentences nonetheless.

As she grew up, Hermione didn't care to try to pinpoint her first memory, but if she had made the effort she would have found it was from when she was around one or two. Mummy had brought home a brand new toy, with brightly colored blocks in different shapes and a flat wooden board with corresponding holes that matched each shapes. Mummy showed her how to put the circle block in the circle hole, then said "Now you try, Mya."

(For a few years, Hermione thought her name was Mya. It was short and too the point and sounded much more like a proper name than 'Hermione'. Then her mum and dad lengthened the nickname to 'Mione' at the age of 3 and by the time Hermione was in primary school, she was accustomed to the usage of her full first name, however unusual.)

Baby Hermione frowned deeply at the circle block fitted neatly in the circle hole for a good long time, then carefully surveyed the rest of the pieces. Then her little face lit up with excitement, and she reached out chubby hands for the square block and promptly stuck it in the square hole. In less than a minute, she had completed the entire puzzle as her mother looked on in shock. Indeed, it would have been faster had her motor skills been able to keep up with her brain.

Hermione grinned at her mummy with all her baby teeth and clapped her hands. "Ah' dun!" She declared happily. Her face soon fell when she saw Mummy wasn't smiling, only blinking in surprise. "Ah' dun, Mummy." She repeated more insistently.

Samara Granger saw her daughter's distress and quickly fixed her expression and beamed brightly, grabbing Hermione up in a big hug. "Good _job,_ Mya!" She praised the little girl effusively. "Mummy is _so_ proud of you! You are so _smart_ , baby girl!"

Hermione gazed up in wonder, basking in the glow of her mother's pride. Her very young but advanced brain connected her mother's positive reaction to her earlier actions with the blocks, and resolved that if being smart made her Mummy so happy, she would always be smart.

...but, she didn't know what smart meant. All she knew was that it was a good thing, and she wanted to keep doing it. So from then on, Hermione carefully observed her parent's reactions to her. Spilling her drink and knocking over her food on accident got her exasperated sighs and "Oh no, Mya, look at the mess you've made". Hermione soon learned this went under the category of _disappointed_. She didn't like that reaction very much.

Saying "no" when her parents told her to do things or throwing a tantrum made them angry and she would have to go have a Time Out. Making funny faces or singing silly songs made them laugh and smile, which was nice, but it wasn't the same as the pride and praise she got for being _smart._

Being smart was doing puzzles, like the blocks. Or memorizing and reciting her ABCs and 123s. If she could turn those letters into words, that was _very_ smart.

Sometimes asking questions was smart, but not always. Hermione learned very fast that just asking 'why' over and over could quickly make Mum and Dad frustrated and annoyed, which was worse than disappointed because it was like they were angry even though she wasn't doing anything wrong. "May you please tell me why?" was a little better, but not much.

So some questions were smart. But knowing the answers to questions was often smarter. For awhile Hermione didn't know which questions to ask her parents, but then she noticed that whenever Mummy or Daddy didn't know something, they would look in one of their books. Usually their questions were about being dentists, so they looked at dentist books. Hermione tried that, but soon had way more questions than answer, and about a subject that quite frankly bored her.

But Daddy did have a whole set of books called 'encyclopedias' which had so many answers! All you had to do is know the name of the subject you wanted to know more about, and how to spell it. Hermione was very good at her letters, but she knew she needed to know how to read to find answers by herself. She decided that the question "May you please teach me how to read?" was worth risking her parent's annoyance, and she was right.

They were so proud of her, wanting to learn how to read at only three-and-a-half years old, and Hermione got a lot of "You're so smart!" that day, and every day she had a reading lesson they got more proud and happy with how smart their daughter was.

Now Hermione knew what smart was. Smart was reading.

(Of course, eventually Hermione learned that being smart was a more complex concept than just knowing how to read, but she was never quite able to separate her thirst for knowledge and desire to be seen as intelligent from books and reading. This would be both a strength and a weakness later in her life).

Then Hermione went to school.

Now, Samara and Daniel Granger loved their daughter very much and of course they wanted the best for her. They had a very successful and moderately lucrative dental practice and knew they could afford a fancier private school. They also knew Hermione was more than smart enough to gain admission to the most elite of institutions. But they also knew that Hermione had spent much of her early years alone, with only a few neighbor children and the occasional trip to the daycare center to develop her social skills.

The Grangers wanted Hermione to be happy and healthy, and knew that her social life was just as important as cultivating her mental faculties. So after many discussions and interviews, they enrolled her in one of the better local public schools.

Hermione was _so_ excited about going to school. She got brand new shoes and clothes, a real satchel to put her books and homework and lunchbox in, and everything had her name written or sewn on it. Her mummy and daddy dropped her off on her first day and she didn't even think to cry, she was so happy to be surrounded by so many books and charts and colors and _people!_ Boys and girls her own age that she could play and learn with! She had her very own little table and chair with a nametag she could decorate with markers and crayons. She sat next to a little girl named Dorothy who had a missing tooth and a real kitten at her house.

Her teacher was named Miss Margaret, she was very nice and sweet and sounded kind of like the princesses from the American films Hermione had seen. She told them all the rules but sang them in song form and they hardly sounded like rules at all! Then she told them about what they would be learning that year. Hermione was especially excited about learning about outer space. Those were some of her favorite things to read about in the encyclopedias.

It was all so wonderful… until recess.

Miss Margaret showed them around the playground and told them the rules then let them have free time. Hermione suddenly became very shy, unsure of how exactly join the games that had immediately begun. Every child had their own friend or group already, except Hermione.

Then she saw Dorothy on the pavement with some other children, all crowded around a little boy who was talking loudly. Curious, Hermione wandered over to see what was going on.

"I know lots about outer space!" The boy was bragging. "I prob'ly don't even need Miss Margaret to teach me nothing."

He was bigger and taller than most of the children, with messy yellow hair and a slightly large nose. Hermione recognized him as a volunteer for Miss Margaret this morning. He confused Hermione. He looked older but acted younger. He could go from laughing to crying to screaming in less than a minute, kind of like a baby.

"Like what, Davey?" One of the other kids asked. "I wanna know too."

Davey seemed briefly stumped. Then he said, "Well, the sun and the moon are the same thing. It's just on fire during the daytime so we can see, like a candle. Then it goes out and we have nighttime."

This awed the other children. "Wow, I didn't know that!" One said. "That's brilliant!"

Hermione frowned. She had read about the sun in the S encyclopedia, and had been to a planetarium with her daddy before. She knew Davey wasn't saying the right thing, so why was he pretending he was? Hermione did not want her classmates to have the wrong information when they started learning about it for real. So she spoke up, "That's not true."

Several pairs of eyes turned towards her, including Davey's, which immediately were narrowed under a glare at this little girl challenging him. Hermione got a little nervous because his face looked mean, but she knew she was just trying to help and so she continued, "The sun isn't the moon on fire, it's a star and it's made of gas. The moon is a rock. I read it in a book."

"You can read?" Davey seemed momentarily defeated. Then he smiled, but it didn't look nice. "No you can't. Girls can't read, especially girls like you."

Hermione was confused. She could too read! What did being a girl have to do with anything?

"She can too read." Dorothy spoke up. "I know, I sit next to her."

"Oh." Davey's smug smile crumpled briefly, but then it was back, a little meaner than before. Her ignored Dorothy and turned back to Hermione. "Whatever. What do you know anyway?" He scoffed. "You're just a little black girl. My dad says black boys are always uneducated, which means they not smart. So neither are black girls like you."

Hermione was a very smart girl. She knew all her letters and numbers and colors. She knew what the color black looked like. And she knew what her own skin looked like. Her skin was indeed darker than this boy's pale pinkish color, but it was _not_ black. It was a very nice deep brown, like the gingerbread cookies Mummy made during the winter holidays. Mummy would kiss her hands and face while making the cookies and call her 'my little gingerbread girl' or 'my brown sugar plum fairy'.

Clearly this little boy was confused. Hermione decided to try to make him understand. She used her dentist voice, the one her parents used when explaining things to nervous patients. "I'm not _black_ , Davey. My mummy says my skin is brown like gingerbread. Do you not know all your colors yet? I can help you learn them!" She finished with her best smile, feeling good about what she said.

But instead of smiling and accepting her help, Davey's scowl grew uglier and his face got very red. "I don't need no help from no stupid nigger girl!" He burst out.

Everyone gasped, more at his tone than his words. Hermione knew many, many words, but she didn't know that one. But it sounded very mean and it made Hermione feel hurt and confused like when Mummy and Daddy were frustrated with her for no reason. She did, however, know the word stupid. She was deeply affronted at this attack, and let him know rather loudly.

"I'm not stupid!" Hermione snapped, and took a step towards him. She wasn't going to do anything to him, but Davey must have thought so for he thrust out his arms and shoved Hermione _hard._ She fell down onto the pavement and sat there in stunned silence. All the other boys and girls looked on with wide eyes. Davey looked like he had surprised himself a little too, but he was still glaring down at her, hands curled into fists.

Hermione was a very smart girl. She considered her options. She wanted to cry a little bit, because Davey was mean and he pushed her. But she wasn't hurt, except that her hands and bottom stung a little where they hit the ground. She also wanted to shove Davey too. But Mummy and Daddy and Miss Margaret would be so mad at her. Right now, only Davey would be in trouble. Hermione did not want to get in trouble too.

But Daddy told her she should be brave and stand up for herself when people were mean, then get a grown up and tell them what happened.

So she slowly got to her feet and took a big, deep breath, like her mummy showed her when she needed to calm down from a tantrum as a baby. She glared at Davey but didn't shout. "That was mean, Davey." She told him. "I'm going to go tell Miss Margaret and you're gonna get in trouble."

Davey did not like that. His face got so red it looked purple, and he looked like he wanted to scream or cry or hit or all three. Hermione thought he was acting like a big dumb baby. But she decided not to tell him so. Instead, because she really didn't want her first day of school to be ruined, she gave him a way out. "If you say sorry to me right now, I won't tell Miss Margaret."

Davey paused. The other kids murmured at this unexpected twist. His scowl loosened and his face looked a little less red. "Really?" He asked doubtfully.

Hermione reconsidered for one more moment. Davey was being a bully, but she wanted to be friends with everyone in her class so that school would be fun. "Really." She nodded.

Davey shrugged. "Okay. Sorry."

"I forgive you." Hermione replied graciously, even though he didn't sound like he meant it.

Davey shrugged again. He turned back to the little boy next to him. "Come on, Toby, let's play in the sandbox." They ran off, and the other children soon followed suit, uninterested in the way the drama had unfolded.

Hermione found herself standing alone with nobody to play with. That didn't seem fair. Davey was the mean one, and she hadn't told on him, so why wasn't anybody playing with her? Oh well, she didn't have any brothers and sisters. She was used to playing by herself.

She picked up her book from where it had fallen beside her and began to read, absently rubbing one of her palms against her leg. It still hurt.

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 **Author's Note: First of all, if any of you are readers of my crossover story Eunoia, don't worry, I have not abandoned that story and this will not affect my continuation of that story, or Aftershocks, my story about Padma Patil. And yes, Hermione will remain caucasian in Eunoia.**

 **As for Black Girl Magic, I was intrigued by the idea of Hermione being black and how that would have affected her life at home and Hogwarts, her role in the war, and her relationships, canon or otherwise. I think Hermione being a woman of color adds a lot of depth to her character and gives us concrete context and motives for her strong sense for injustice and equality other than her just being muggle-born. I wish that perspective would have been explored in the books, at least with characters like Dean Thomas, Angelina Johnson, Kingsley Shacklebolt, etc. The books/movies are not exactly lacking in diversity, but in my opinion they are lacking in an accurate and thorough portrayal of that diversity.**

 **This is mainly a character depth and development exercise, and I have no idea where it will go (so be forewarned, that might mean erratic and infrequent updates. It all depends on when inspiration strikes). Maybe it will be linear, maybe not. I want it to be mostly canon-compliant, but who knows. Maybe it will have clear plot development and chapters, or maybe it will just be one shots and vignettes. Whatever the outcome, I hope you will join me on the journey.**

 **Follow, favorite, review! Stay tuned for more chapters! And please check out my other stories.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: inflammatory language and racial slurs**

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_"Our backs tell stories no books have the spine to carry." -Rupi Kaur, Women of Color_

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It was a rather subdued little girl that the Grangers picked up from school that day. They immediately noticed the drop in her energy since the morning in comparison to how her classmates were chattering away a mile a minute to their own parents. Due to an unspoken communication of some meaningful looks over Hermione's bowed head, they didn't bring it up until that evening when they were seated around the table eating supper.

"Hermione, darling, how was your first day of school?" Samara Granger started off casually.

The little girl took her time chewing and swallowing her food before answering. "It was fine, Mummy, thank you."

They waited a beat before it became clear Hermione would not offer up any more information. After another meaningful look, Daniel Granger gave it a try. "Do you like your teacher?"

This time Hermione answered immediately. She bobbed her head in a vigorous nod. "Oh, yes, Daddy. Miss Margaret is very nice and smart."

Her father smiled, pleased, and tried another question. "And did you enjoy your lessons?"

Hermione shrugged a little. "There weren't any lessons today, Daddy because we needed to learn all the rules and expectations. But Miss Margaret did say we were going to study maths and spelling and learn about outer space and other countries." She added hopefully. "I hope we learn about places in Africa!"

"That's wonderful, sweetie." Her mum chimed in. "We are so proud of how much you love learning. You are so smart, my baby girl." Hermione beamed her first real smile of the evening.

Encouraged by the progress they were making, Daniel asked the next logical question. "And are your classmates nice, Mya? Did you make lots of friends?"

Hermione's smile immediately faded into a sad, troubled frown although she clearly tried to hide it. She shrugged her shoulders and pushed her food around her plate.

Daniel shot his wife a concerned glance, who merely nodded knowingly that they had discovered the source of their daughter's distress. She moved her chair right next to Hermione's and wrapped one arm around her little shoulders, the other moving to gently tilt Hermione's chin up to look her in face. "Mya, sweetheart, Mummy and Daddy know you're upset about something. Please tell us what it is so we can help you."

Hermione looked away and began tugging at the ends of her hair, a nervous habit she had always had. Samara allowed her this bit of placebo physical comfort (at least it wasn't thumb sucking, which would have eventually cause a dental nightmare). After a long minute of thinking, Hermione began in the careful measured voice she used when she wasn't sure if what she was about to say would make her parents mad or not, "A boy said I was black."

Her mummy said, "Oh," in a quiet voice that was more sigh than words. Hermione glanced up. Mummy and Daddy didn't look mad, but they didn't look very happy either. They did look very serious and tired, and it worried Hermione.

Her father leaned his elbows on the table, rubbing his hands over his face. "We knew this conversation was coming, Samara." He said finally.

"But she's so young, Dan." Her mother murmured softly, holding Hermione just a little bit closer. "This shouldn't have been a problem for her yet."

"It's been a problem for centuries, Sam." Her husband said tensely. "Racism wasn't going to take a holiday just so Hermione could grow up."

"I know that, Daniel." Her mother said firmly but not unkindly. Then her voice turned wistful. "But I hoped…"

The edge of anger slipped away from Daniel Granger and he nodded, leaning closer to his wife and daughter. "I know, love. I hoped so too. But we got five years. That's more than most."

Hermione was as usual, listening and absorbing. But she wasn't getting any answers from her parents' sad and cryptic conversation. She did have a question, and though her parents seemed a little upset she didn't think they were angry with her, so she decided it was worth the risk. "Daddy, what's racism?"

Daniel Granger huffed out a laugh. "That's my smart girl, asking the hardest questions first." Samara laughed quietly and Hermione smiled tentatively, pleased she had asked a good question. Her father stood up and said decisively, "Alright then, let's tidy up the dishes and then we'll go to the sitting room and have a discussion about all this."

"Okay." Hermione was very helpful in the clean up that night, as her curiosity had overwhelmed her trepidation and she was looking forward to getting some answers to all the questions the day had brought.

She soon found herself seated comfortably on the sofa in between her parents, who had been very pensive and somber while cleaning up the dishes and still looked like they didn't quite know what to say. They simply stared at each other, waiting for the other to start.

Hermione did it for them. "Mummy, why did Davey say I was black? I'm not black. My skin is brown like gingerbread, that what you always told me. And what is racism? It sounds like racing, but that doesn't make sense. I wasn't racing Davey and I don't like running anyway."

The last bit made her parents crack a smile.

"Those are all very good and logical points, Hermione. Good job using your brain." Samara praised her. "But remember, sometimes people use words that sound like other words but they don't have the same meaning."

Hermione nodded seriously. "So black doesn't mean the color? And racism doesn't mean running?"

"Yes to both," Daniel answered. "You figured that out so fast, honey. You are very smart."

"Thanks, Daddy." Hermione grinned, but wasn't distracted by the compliment. "But then what do they mean, Mummy?"

Samara took another moment to consider her words carefully before speaking. "Well… actually, Hermione, black does kind of mean the color in this case. You're right; you have brown skin, but black just describes people whose skin is darker than white people - well, only people whose ancestors come from Africa. Do you know what _ancestor_ means, Hermione?"

Hermione remembered this from the A encyclopedia. "Yes, Mummy," she said, happy to have an answer without Mummy and Daddy having to tell her first. "It's who your family is a long long time ago and where they came from."

"Very good!" Her mother beamed. "Now, some people have brown skin, but they're not black. Like Dr. Banjari from Mummy and Daddy's practice. He has brown skin, but he's not black, because he's from India."

Hermione nodded, committing this information to memory. She thought out loud, "So, even though I have brown skin, I'm black because our family came from Africa a long long time ago? Like how Mr. O'Brien's dog is a golden retriever even though he's not actually made of gold? It's just a… an ad-jack-tive." She also remembered this from the A encyclopedia.

"Adjective." Her mother corrected gently. "But that's exactly right, Mya. Excellent job, darling!" She hugged Hermione with a proud grin. "You are so very intelligent, my love."

"And white is the same thing, but that's an adjective for people whose ancestors come from some countries in Europe." Her father added. "Their skin is much lighter than ours usually. Like Mr. O'Brien and Miss Margaret."

Hermione nodded, easily following this logic. She was smiling happily. "So Davey wasn't being mean, even though he used a mean voice and called me stupid! He was just using an ad-jec-tive."

Her mummy didn't stop hugging her, but she paused. "He called you stupid?" Her voice was very careful, like when she was going to tell a patient they weren't taking good care of their teeth but didn't want to sound rude or mad. Hermione's mummy was very polite.

"Hermione." Her father's voice was serious again. "Tell us more about what happened with that boy today. We need to know all the words he said, the _exact_ words."

Hermione was confused at this switch in her parent's mood, but she knew better than to argue. "At recess Davey said that the sun is just the moon set on fire during the daytime, and I told him that's wrong because I read about the sun in the S encyclopedia and I know it's actually a star."

"That's right," Her mother said automatically, always encouraging her daughter's intellectual pursuits. "Then what did he say?"

"Davey said, 'what do you know you're just a little black girl.'" Hermione recited automatically. She had a very good memory. "Then he said his daddy says black boys aren't smart and that means black girls aren't smart either."

Daniel Granger muttered a word under his breath that Hermione didn't hear but made her mother shoot him the sharp look she used when Hermione was being disobedient.

"Hermione, you told us he called you stupid. Remember, we need the _exact_ words, dear." Samara cautioned.

"Oh. Sorry, Mummy." Hermione said. "He did say those words, but then he said stupid too. I thought Davey didn't know his colors because he mixed up brown and black and I said I could help him learn. He got mad and said he 'didn't need no help from no stupid nigger girl.'" She said matter-of-factly. "Then… Mummy? Daddy?"

Her parents froze, expressions of absolute horror on their face. Her father suddenly bolted to his feet and stormed from the room into the kitchen. Hermione flinched and shrank into the sofa cushions, frightened by her father's sudden switch in behavior. Samara struggled to control her own reaction and quickly gathered her daughter to her. "It's okay, Mya, Daddy's not angry at you. Davey said something… very horrible to you and Daddy is sad and mad that happened to you. Do you understand?"

"Yes Mummy." Hermione whispered. "Is Daddy going to do something bad to Davey?"

"Hermione Granger," Samara said firmly. "You know your father is a very good and kind man. He would never do something bad to Davey or anyone else. But he is mad and needs a little bit of space right now. He'll be back very soon and we will talk about what needs to happen next. Alright?"

"Yes Mummy." Hermione sounded a bit calmer.

Sure enough, Daniel Granger reentered the room not a minute later, having gotten himself under control. He immediately went and hugged his daughter. "I'm sorry, my Mya." He said into her curly brown hair. "I'm sorry I scared you and I'm sorry Davey said that to you."

"He said sorry." Hermione felt it was important to say. "But… Daddy, I know stupid is bad but why are you so mad?"

Dan paused again. "Ah." He said after a moment. "I don't know why we thought you knew what that word was." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Hermione, you are _not_ stupid and Davey should not have called you that. It was very mean of him. But it was the other word… _nigger._ That is much, much worse than calling you stupid. It's a bad word only for people with brown skin - black people from Africa. It's rude and foul and _hateful."_

Hermione's eyes were very round. "Davey _hates_ me because I'm… black?"

"I don't think so, darling." Her mother spoke up gently. "I don't think Davey knows what it means. I think Davey was using words he's heard grown ups use because he was upset and didn't know what else to do. Do you try to do what Mummy and Daddy tell you when you're upset?" Hermione nodded vehemently. "Good girl. Well, I think Davey was trying to listen to his grown ups, and they have been telling him very bad words. He should not have said them, absolutely not, and he should be punished for it, but I don't think Davey hates you. I think he wanted to hurt your feelings because he was embarrassed and didn't think before he spoke."

"That's not right, Mummy." Hermione said. "You say I should always know all the information I can find before saying I know something, otherwise I might be telling a lie and it's bad to lie. You say I need to use my brain first before my mouth or body."

" _Yes,_ Mya, that's exactly right. You are _so_ brave and good and _smart_ we love you _very_ much." Samara said strongly, making sure Hermione heard and understood these positive words about herself.

"Thank you, Mummy." Hermione beamed, hugging her mother. "I love you and Daddy too."

"I love you, my Mya." Her father replied, before cradling her little face in his large hands and saying seriously. "But you need to love yourself too, including the color of your skin, and that means you should _never_ let _anyone_ talk to you like that because you deserve people to treat you like the brave and smart and good girl you are. If anyone says hateful words like that to you again, you get away from them immediately, tell a grown up what happened, and ask for mummy or daddy to come right away if we're not there. We will always help you and protect you, no matter what. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Daddy." Hermione said earnestly. As a five year old, she meant it with all her heart.

Samara and Daniel hugged her, but her mother sent her husband an anguished look over her little head that he returned. Anguish, because they both knew that one day she might be alone or unable to escape the hate and violence of prejudice and they wouldn't be able to help or protect her.

But they would damn well protect her now.

The next day, Hermione got to stay home from school and play with a babysitter while Mummy and Daddy had a meeting with Miss Margaret and the headmaster. When Hermione went back to school, Davey wasn't there and he never came back.

The Grangers enrolled Hermione in a small elite private school for the next term anyway.

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 **Author's note: If you think some of the concepts and language here is too advanced for a five year old, you may be right. But I'm operating on the assumption that Hermione was a genius/child prodigy to some extent and that her parents tried to support and improve upon her natural intelligence from a very young age. Also, because Hermione is so in touch with her emotions in the books, I think they probably encourage emotional health as well. So this will be my foundation for her later character development. Don't worry, we'll be moving on to less dense topics and older Hermione perspective very soon.**

 **Follow/Favorite/Review/read my other stories!**

 **P.S. I'm thinking about including the Rupi Kaur quote at the beginning of each chapter because that quote is basically the inspiration for this entire story and I want it to remain in your minds throughout the story, but if you think it's too redundant I will trust you readers to remember it and not include it anymore. Thoughts?**


	3. Chapter 3

**DEAR READERS,**

This is not a new chapter, and I am so sorry about that. This is a quick memo to explain my absence. Months ago, my laptop broke and I have been without the means to get it fixed. My laptop has all of my story files and information on it. The only time I have enough computer access to write is when I'm at work, and I can't write during that time because I am obviously working. I've been trying to write bit by bit so that when I do get my laptop fixed I can begin updating without delay, but it's been difficult. There's also been some really tough stuff going on in my personal life, not to mention America's awful political climate, that has sapped my inspiration for writing.

Anyway, all of this to say that I have not abandoned my stories and that I dearly hope you guys haven't abandoned me either. Your continued reviews, follows, and favorites have been extremely touching and motivating. I hope to see you soon, with updates!

Sincerely,

StainedGlassSkyscrapers


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